


Work of Art

by Itshellfo



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: M/M, Sort Of, alternate universe - ace of diamond, baseball AU, i might write more in the future, listen I'm just trying to merge my two main fandoms okay?, you don't need to know the plot to read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 11:37:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20045368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itshellfo/pseuds/Itshellfo
Summary: After his mother's death, Neil Josten just wants to graduate and leave any trace of his existence in Millport. He might as well play baseball in the meantime, right?He should have known that it was a terrible idea.





	Work of Art

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly don't know what this is. I wrote it a few months ago and I wasn't sure whether to post it or not...  
I'm leaving it here as a one shot for now but I already have planned other chapters, I just need the motivation to write them.

Neil Josten sat on the mound facing home base and holding a cigarette a few inches away from his face. Smoking on the diamond wasn’t allowed, technically, but everyone else was long gone and it helped clear his mind.

That day his team had lost the game because of Neil’s recklessness; he’d pushed himself to his limit even knowing that his teammates couldn’t catch his pitches, which eventually had cost them too many runs and the game had been called at the fifth inning.

In hindsight, Neil knew they’d never stood a chance. Millport’s high school baseball team was still fresh, its members barely knew how to play and Neil had volunteered to become their only pitcher because nobody else was good enough.

It was better that way; he’d joined the team on a whim after watching them practice. It went against everything his mother had taught him and if she had still been alive she would have beaten him to hell and back. Neil was perfectly aware of the fact that baseball was the fastest way to get himself killed. There was nothing to hide his face in front of thousands of people and cameras. Still, he’d hoped that nobody would pay attention to such an amateurish team that couldn’t even get to the quarter-finals.

The loss stung anyway.

The sound of footsteps on his right startled him out of his thoughts. Coach Hernandez was steadily walking towards him, eyeing with a disappointed scowl the cigarette in his hands. Neil didn’t flinch away, nor acknowledged his presence: the man’s weak attempts to cheer him up were the last thing he wanted to hear. He owed Hernandez a lot for occasionally letting him sleep in his office without asking for an explanation. And yet, he didn’t want the coach to get too attached to him. In May, after graduation, he would move to another state and change his name. Neil Josten would become another insignificant memory in the minds of a small group of people; they’d never question where he was, they’d never try to contact him again. And Neil wanted to leave it at that for their own good.

Sitting on the ground next to him, the man finally asked: “Are your folks out of town? I’d hoped to meet them today.”

Neil nodded, though that was a lie. He couldn’t exactly tell him his mother was dead and his father behind bars somewhere in Seattle. Saying his parents were always busy with work was easier and wouldn’t draw any suspicions.

“Are you going to be okay, kid?” the coach pressed. “In a few months you’ll be graduating, and you won’t be allowed to sleep on school grounds anymore.”

Neil wanted to tell him that it wasn’t any of his business and that he had everything under control, instead he settled for half of the truth: “My parents are planning to move again when I’m done with high school.”

Hernandez’s eyes narrowed, “What about college?”

The question startled Neil. He hadn’t considered the option if he were to be completely honest. He’d never expected to survive long enough to even go to university. However, applying to one meant settling down for a few years and Neil couldn’t stay in the same place for more than a few months. Millport had been the exception; with the death of his mother still fresh in his mind, he’d chosen to postpone his departure until after graduation. That way he could think of a better course of action and an actual diploma was easier to falsify if he wanted a job.

“We can’t afford it,” Neil shrugged it off as if it was nothing. In truth, he longed for a normal life where he wouldn’t have to run anymore.

“I had a feeling you’d say that,” Hernandez replied, unsurprised, with a smug grin. He stood from the mound and offered a hand to Neil who, blinking, accepted it.

The diamond was covered in darkness and Neil could barely make out the dugout. He hadn’t bothered turning on the lights, not wanting to attract attention. As they approached the players’ benches, though, he wished he could see a little more clearly: bad people always lurked in shadows, ready to ambush their prey. With trembling fingers, Neil tossed the cigarette out of the fence and joined the old man. He had a terrible feeling about the whole situation, his legs itched to run and put as much distance between the pitch and himself.

Suddenly, a tall, manly figure came out of the dugout. The first thing that caught Neil’s eyes was the number of tattoos that covered the entirety of the stranger’s arms. He lifted his gaze to the man’s face, almost unrecognizable under the baseball cap, and recoiled so hard he almost lost his footing. Warning bells rang in his ears. He had to run, but his feet were rooted to the ground.

“Neil,” Hernandez started. “This is David Wymack.”

“I know who he is,” Neil bristled.

The coach of the Palmetto State Foxes reached out to him with his hand but Neil refused to take it. The man didn’t seem too affected by his behavior, however, as he shrugged and repositioned his cap without batting an eye. “Then you also know why I’m here.”

Neil gritted his teeth, “I have a feeling. But it’s hard to believe you came all the way to an anonymous city out of nowhere.”

“I sent him your stats and tapes,” answered Hernandez, with a hint of guilt in his voice, and Neil sent him a betrayed glare. Out of all of the teams he could’ve chosen, why did it have to be the Foxes? He brushed his brow in apprehension.

Almost as if he was reading his thoughts, David Wymack promptly explained, “Your coach told me you have a habit of sleeping in his office and that you probably have problems at home. You’d fit right in with us.”

More than the fact that Hernandez had disclosed that information with someone else, Neil was mad that Wymack had made assumptions about him. The Foxes were his worst option precisely because their sob stories and attitudes attracted too much attention. Not to mention the presence of a particular pitcher he’d rather not meet.

“No,” Neil said.

Wymack wasn’t deterred. “We can give you a new home for a few years.”

The offer was tempting yet still incredibly dangerous not only to him but to everyone involved. “I’m not good enough for your team.”

“Bullshit,” a new voice resounded from the benches and, though it was slightly muffled, Neil could recognize it anywhere. He froze, feeling the heat draining from his body all at once. This was all his fault, he’d stayed too long and joining the team had been a bad idea.

Kevin Day was one of the few people alive that could still recognize him. He was the second best juvenile pitcher in the world following Riko Moriyama. Neil had played with both of them once, back when he was supposed to join their team at the age of ten. Before Tetsuji Moriyama could decide if he was good enough, however, his mother had taken Neil and ran. Away from baseball. Away from his father, the Butcher of Baltimore.

If Kevin were to recognize him, he would no doubt send him back to where he belonged. So Neil made a quick decision; before the newcomer could even show himself, he bolted forward and pushed Wymack out of his way. It only worked because the man wasn’t expecting it.

His heart was racing in his chest as he made his escape, his breath coming out ragged and discontinued signaling the beginning of a panic attack. He didn’t make it far, unfortunately. As soon as he turned at the corner of the dugout, a baseball bat came into view and he couldn’t react fast enough to avoid it. It clashed against his stomach and took all of the air away from his body. Neil fell on the ground with a groan; the hit had been calculated enough that it didn’t do any major damage, but it hurt like hell. 

“Dammit, Minyard! This is why we can’t have nice things,” the coach reprimanded his player, but the tone of voice betrayed resignation. It wasn’t very convincing.

Neil looked up at his assailant and was greeted by a flash of blond hair and a manic grin. Andrew Minyard, the Foxes’ catcher, was staring down at him as if the whole ordeal was incredibly amusing. He was supposedly on medication for bad behavior; Neil had heard he’d almost killed four men that had tried to assault his cousin. His grin grew even wider and malicious as he said: “If he was nice you wouldn’t be recruiting him.”

Neil stood up, albeit with a bit of trouble since his stomach still ached, and spat: “Fuck you.”

The cold laugh that came out of Andrew’s mouth made him shiver all over, and he put some space between them for good measure. There was no point in running anymore, Kevin was already watching him attentively. Even in the dark the number two on his cheek seemed to stand out the most, as a reminder of the pitcher’s origin. In baseball the number two was always assigned to catchers, but that wasn’t the case with the Ravens’ first string. Riko liked to mark the best players on his team as a promise to help them go pro. It was also a way to establish his superiority and property.

Looking at Kevin’s face, Neil was surprised to find no sign of recognition. Could it be that the hair dye and contacts had really fooled him?

Neil wasn’t going to let his guard down, yet.

Next to him, Andrew snorted: “Kevin, you spooked the high-schooler.”

“You’re the one that hit him with a bat,” Kevin frowned, then turned to Neil. “Why’d you run?”

Neil wanted to laugh at how oblivious the man was, instead he clenched his fists at his sides. “I’m not playing with you.”

“I could help you go pro.”

“I don’t care.”

Kevin opened his mouth to retort but Andrew beat him to it: “Bo-ring.” He sang, swinging his bat dangerously close to Neil and then pointing at him with it. “Let’s go, the rabbit clearly doesn’t want to talk to you.”

Anger flared through Neil and he swatted the bat away, earning another amused giggle from the catcher. If they were here to convince him to join, Andrew’s attitude wasn’t helping. He watched as the short man pushed Kevin out of the field until both of them got entirely swallowed by darkness. Hernandez too excused himself saying he had other matters to attend to and, just like that, Neil was left alone with Wymack. A shiver ran through his spine as the man was old enough to remind him of his father.

He unconsciously retreated a few steps and cleared his throat.

“I have another request,” the coach spoke eventually, catching Neil’s attention. He shifted uncomfortably on his spot, not daring to meet the man’s eyes. “Come with us to Palmetto so I can show you the team. Don’t worry about the price of the flight, it’s on me.”

Neil’s head snapped up at that and he blinked in surprise. Then a bitter laugh escaped his mouth: “Showing me your sorry excuse of a team will only make me want to refuse.”

If Wymack was irritated by that statement it didn’t show, though he probably agreed with Neil. The Foxes weren’t exactly known for their welcoming spirit, unlike the Trojans. “It’s worth a try. Not all of my players are assholes.”

It was clear now that the man wouldn’t leave Millport without a yes as an answer. Neil was annoyed that Wymack felt that strong of a need to save him, in a way, and he didn’t want his charity. Still, for a moment he let himself ponder his words; it’s not like he had much to lose, in fact, no one would notice his disappearance for a day or two. He could follow them to Palmetto, watch them practice for a while and then say that he wasn’t interested. With the way Wymack was looking at him, he was probably thinking the same thing. He had Neil cornered.

“I’ll let my parents know,” he conceded.

The man’s mouth twitched as he nodded, “We depart tomorrow at noon.” He took out a piece of paper from the pocket of his jeans and gave it to Neil, who looked at it with hesitance. Blood immediately started boiling inside him: it was a ticket to Palmetto. Wymack had been so sure of his answer that he’d already booked the flight for him. He almost set it on fire right then and there.

When Neil looked up again he saw him walking away with his hands in his pockets, and he couldn’t help but feel like he’d just signed his death sentence.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think, comments are always appreciated.


End file.
